 |
When I started my new life in Murphy seven months ago, I didn’t know anybody in town and felt very, very alone. I also didn’t understand the parts and pieces of the area.
For example, Peachtree is not a street but rather a whole community, and Main Street is actually called Peachtree Street, but that has nothing to do with the community. And I’ve made a couple of missteps, sure, like trying to order a Bailey’s on the rocks at Parson’s Pub (beer and wine only, buster) or dropping a mattress off at the recycle center, where my new friend Joe works.
This last mistake was a big one. I received a voicemail from headquarters about 30 minutes after the drop, informing me that I had shamelessly taken advantage of the well-established customs of the area. Mattresses had to be dropped off at a separate recycling center (?) and I could be fined or whatnot for my blatant attack upon the decency of my fellow Murphyites. I quickly drove back to Joe’s and, with a proper dose of shame, reloaded my mattress and zipped down to the correct location without further incident – if you don’t count driving past the scales, only to then perform a sweaty six-point turn under the careful watch of truck drivers waiting behind the sign instructing, “Wait in line here, dummy.”
When the job was doubly done and dusted, I felt astonished that the recycle place had my cellphone number. Somebody from town had called me. Murphy really was the close-knit community it proclaims to be on the brochures. Wow.
So the recycle folks know me now, and that’s something. That’s a start. I’ve tried to make friends with the gals at the local hair salons but that’s been a bust.
The first salon I tried had their shampoo chairs facing the front store windows and, as a female who wears dresses and skirts exclusively, I felt a bit trampy lying back in the bowl with my short skirt and stockings on full display. Plus, the women in there were the popular kids in school, all slick in their yoga pants, sinewy muscles and trendy shoes. Even as grown-ups, they could smell the “different” on me.
The second salon I tried showed a bit more class with their shampoo chairs, but it seemed the women inside all knew each other from birth. Possible before that; their mothers very likely took birthing classes together.
While the conversations sailed from chair to chair, hairdresser to client with that ease and comfortable overlap that happens inside tight friendship circles, it all buzzed around and above me. I tried to jump in once, but my comment awkwardly fell to the floor between us. I was just too green and so obviously did not belong to the people here. They probably thought I was a tourist (not a compliment).
But, I couldn’t think of anywhere else people gather outside of church Bible studies, so I tried a third salon – and I think I hit a bullseye here. Firstly, they served their clients wine so, yes please. Secondly, they played music that softened the experience and blended the quiet conversations between client and hairdresser. And, finally, some of them dressed with a flair and quirkiness similar to my own style.
Had I met my people? After seven long months of laughing at inside jokes I pretended to understand and getting lost in the outskirts of town because the street names are a jumble of numbers that appear to be put into order by a Powerball machine, randomly creating sequences, maybe I would make a find my place here. I could stop marathon watching Netflix shows way, way earlier in the evening, because I would have made a friend.
Savannah, a gorgeous, gentle human with hairstyling superpowers corrected my bad color and cut off all the inches that represented rings in the tree of my old life. I sipped my wine and let Savannah and her team, fuss and tend and shampoo and comb me like I was their prized pet. While Savannah, the age of my youngest child, is too young to become a girlfriend, I am really looking forward to my roots growing out so I can rest in her professional kindness.
And, for the hours that I will spend under her care, I know I will be seen, I will be cared for and I will be cherished. And those are the qualities that will transform my status in this my adopted town from “outsider” to “she’s with us.” Yes, please.
Abigail Hickman is a correspondent for the Cherokee Scout. Email her at abigailhickman44@gmail.com.